


The Words Didn't Fade

by writetheniteaway



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, F/M, Major character death - Freeform, Soulmates, several times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:13:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29451345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writetheniteaway/pseuds/writetheniteaway
Summary: The last words your soulmate ever says to you are tattooed on your wrist, but they fade if you lose them. You find them in every world, and every life, onward perpetually until the words never fade.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Kudos: 30





	The Words Didn't Fade

_The last words your soulmate ever says to you are tattooed on your wrist, but they fade if you lose them. You find them in every world, and every life, onward perpetually until the words never fade._

From the time they were children, it was always Bellamy and Clarke. They were an unlikely pair, the Alpha station Princess and the troublemaker from Factory but inseparable all the same. They would sneak through the dark tunnels of the aging station, hiding from guards and watching as the grown-ups passed by.

As they grew up their adventures changed; no longer epic journeys of imagination, but still with that same heady rush of adrenaline that comes from doing something you’re not supposed to. Dark tunnels making way to groping hands and dirty kisses, fits of passion and bickering. 

They’re noticed by the wrong people, just once. Whispers of overthrowing the Chancellor, her parents’ friend, shakes Clarke to her core, and the shocked noise that comes from her gives them away—a violent arm reaches blinding into the wall to pull her out. 

Clarke pushes Bellamy back further into the shadows; she has a better chance of talking herself out of trouble alone than the two of them. She tries to bargain, saying she only wanted a bit of time to herself, but Shumway pins Clarke to the wall, hand tight across her throat, demanding she tell him what she heard. 

Bellamy barrels into him before he can stop to think of the consequences; all thoughts escaping his head except that he had to protect Clarke. 

She screams at him as the guards drag him away. Twenty-three years old and witnessed attacking a guard, there won’t even be a trial, just an immediate sentencing. 

Marcus Kane holds her back, but Clarke’s screams echo down the hall. “You stupid idiot, why didn’t you just stay back? Bellamy, _why?_ ” 

“I love you,” he chokes out, and he’s fighting too. Not to save himself—that cause is already lost—but to just get back to her. Assure her it will be alright, that she is worth it. 

She’s crying, her voice shattering, and it’s his fault that there’s a hole being drilled into her heart. He should have listened to her. But then they would have dragged her down toward the airlock just the same, or worse. And he couldn’t let that happen—not to Clarke and she knows that. 

“I’m sorry,” he says just before turning the corner, realizing only then he can’t possibly reach her. 

She realizes nearly too late that it’s their last moment. Her only chance. _I love you,_ he had said. _I’m sorry._

“Me too,” she says, keeping his gaze as long as she can. 

Shumway catches a glimpse of Bellamy’s wrist, the two small words scribed there.

“Don’t worry,” he says gleefully, shoving Bellamy into the airlock. “There’s always next time.” 

Clarke cowers on the floor of the hall, her wrist clasped tight in her hand. She screams again when the words fade.

***

Bellamy always knew the last words his soulmate would say were, "Me too." He couldn't be sure, of course, but he always envisioned theirs being something like "I'm so glad I found you." or "I love you." 

He'd seen Clarke's tattoo before; it broke his heart to know her soulmate’s last words were an apology. She deserved better than an apology as a last goodbye. 

It hits him, just as he hits the ground, the last thing he's said to her. 

It hits her as she hits the dirt on Earth.

***

The rocket launched thirteen minutes ago. Clarke is stumbling towards the lab if only because she had spent so long repeating it to herself that it seems the only logical thing to do. 

She walks as fast as she can—no point in running towards her death, after all—head bent against the wind, unable to see in front of her until she’s barrelled into a tree.

Not a tree—a body. A person. Bellamy. 

“No,” she cries out. “No, you can’t be here,”

“I couldn’t leave you behind,” he shouts. 

She shakes her head; heartbroken that he’s doomed and filled to the brim with a warmth that she isn’t here alone. 

She looks at him for a long minute, presses the glass of her suit to his as the death wave roars. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, unsure if she can even hear it. 

“Me too.” 

***

It’s been one hundred and seventy-three years, eight months, and twenty-nine days after they opened the dropship door, and Bellamy is getting ready for bed. His books and papers are piled neatly on the shelf in the corner, his jacket hanging over his boots. His gun hangs on the wall, rarely used these days now that the youngsters have fresh eyes to hunt. 

An unjust ark, a dropship camp, two apocalypses, one cryosleep, four planets, too many wars to count, and they’ve finally made a home. A cabin in the woods on Earth, with Octavia and Hope their neighbors to the left, and Miller and Jackson to the right. 

Forty-seven years they’ve lived in this cabin in the woods on Earth; long enough for Madi to move out into a home of her own, for hundreds of family dinners, and thousands of quiet nights by the fire to have taken place where they are right now.

Forty-seven years of peace; a record, according to those who had made a hobby of cobbling together what could be found of human history. And thanks in no small part to the force of nature sketching by the fire, they’ve been the happiest forty-seven years of what he once believed would be a very short and very miserable life. 

“Coming to bed?” he asks her. 

“Almost,” she says, brow furrowed in concentration. “I just want to finish this up.” 

Bellamy finishes tidying the space, dropping a few more logs into the fire to last them through the night.

Clarke blows gently on the sketchbook, leaves it lying prominently on the table so it doesn’t smudge. She looks at it with satisfaction, smiling at her handiwork. Allowing herself a moment of pride to call it finished. “It’s finally done.”

“Wow, Clarke,” Bellamy says, wonderment in his voice. “It’s…”

“I just wanted us all in one place,” she says with a shrug. “It felt like something I had to do.” 

“Emori’s going to make you hang it in the meeting house,” he says with a laugh. 

“She’s welcome to it,” Clarke smiles. 

Clarke changes for bed while Bellamy settles, taking his time to let his aches and pains ease as he lies down. 

“Come here,” he says softly, lifting his arm so that she can occupy the space beside him.

Clarke obliges him, ignoring the protests of her bad knee as she climbs over him, resting her head on his chest, letting the sounds of his heart soothe her.

“It’s almost time,” he says quietly, tightening his arm around her as he feels her breathe quicken.

“It’s gonna be okay, princess,” he says, running his hand through her hair. It’s longer now—again—and it makes him smile how even behind the laugh lines on her face she can still look so much like she did at eighteen. All spitfire and rage, fearless, ruthless. And above all so incredibly brave. 

“I don’t want to be alone,” she says pitifully. 

“Don’t run,” he says earnestly. “Madi is here, our family is here. And they love you, just as much as I do.” 

“Bellamy,” she whispers, voice catching. “I can’t do this on my own.” 

He’d waited as long as he could to mention to Jackson his aches and pains, knowing the moment he said it there was nothing to be done. He was at peace with it before he even had his suspicions confirmed. All except for knowing that it would break her heart. 

“You can,” he insists, strong where faith wavers. Like always. “I wouldn’t trade this life for any other. I thought I was going to die on the Ark and instead I came to Earth—found friends, a family I could never even have dreamt of, and set foot on planets I didn’t even know existed.”

He kisses the top of her head. “It wasn’t always easy, and I made plenty of mistakes. But I’m here right now and I have you. I have you. So it’s all worth it. Please, please don’t give up on the time you have left. _Promise me._ ”

“I’ll try,” she says after a long moment. “I just wish I didn’t have to do it without you.” 

“I know,” he says, tightening his arms around her, nearly asleep. “I’m sorry.” 

She doesn’t blame him though, how can she? She’s angry at the world, at the radiation, at the sickness that’s going to steal him from her. So she shouldn’t take it out on him, even if he’ll always let her. 

“Me too,” she whispers just before they fall asleep.

Clarke wakes the next morning, cold on the far side of the bed. She knows without looking, on pure instinct alone that he’s gone. She tilts her head up, willing the tears not to fall, willing herself to be strong enough to face telling their family. 

She reaches over to fold his hands neatly, squeezes them tight in her own one last time, and that’s when the tears fall. 

The words didn’t fade. 

**Author's Note:**

> I am a participating writer in the 100 fics for BLM movement. [Check out the carrd here!](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)


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